


Socks

by Captain_Loki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Crack, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone keeps stealing James' socks. Some things are better left alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

“Where in the bloody hell have all my socks gone to?” James curses, flinging clothes, books, and quills haphazardly out of his trunk. A bottle of ink smashes across Sirius’s similarly bare feet.

“I dunno mate, maybe the house elves have nicked them,” he suggests, his tone betraying his amusement.

“Why in Merlin would they steal my socks?”

“I swear my mum’s house elf stole a pair of her knickers once, though I try not to think about either of those things…in any particular order…let alone together,” he trails off. James cringes in agreement.

“I’ve seen your mum Padfoot,” James snickers, “the house elf’s still out of her league.

“You know I should smack you round the head for insulting my mum, if I hadn’t already made the same joke a thousand times before,” Sirius replies, using the tip of his wand to clean the last of the ink from between his toes. He holds them up towards Moony and waggles them with a grin.

James mutters something under his breath Sirius doesn’t quite catch, before a spark of blue light erupts from the end of Prongs’s wand and washes over Sirius’s toes. When it dissipates Remus and Peter erupt into fits of laughter while James nods, smugly: Sirius’s toenails turn a shocking shade of magenta.

“That’s a great color, really brings out your eyes,” Moony laughs.

Sirius cocks his head, considering.

“Makes me feel like a princess,” he decides, wiggling his toes once more before standing up, letting his pant legs drop.

“Ugh,” James huffs, annoyed, “I’m serious-“

“Me too!” Sirius responds, feigning surprised delight, turning to shake James’ hand.

“You’re a prat,” James shoves him away and goes back to his trunk, to no avail. He turns to catch Sirius cramming his newly pampered feet into a pair of…his…socks.

“Oy!” James shouts, standing up and snatching the offending footwear out of Sirius’s hand. “This is mine”

“Is it?” Sirius asks, fooling no one with the look of forced confusion.

“Tosser, I just bought those, I don’t want your funky feet in them!”

“Hey, my feet aren’t funky,” Sirius says, insulted, “delightfully quirky as of late—“

James rolls his eyes and stalks over to Sirius’s trunk, kicking the lid open.

“Er—far be it for me to tell you what to do mate, but I strongly advise against that,” Sirius says. James gives him a withering look.

“Something going to explode?” He asks, with a raise of a brow. Sirius’s smirk is conspiratorial and a little concerning, if Prong’s is honest with himself.

“In a manner of speaking,” he says.

“Oh God!” Moony shouts, a look of dawning comprehension passing over his face.

“What?” James asks. He throws a pair of trousers over his shoulder and his hand clenches on a ratty old envelope that spills its contents across the floor as James picks it up.

James sees they’re polaroids, and reaches for one, wondering what’s got Moony all worked up, the boy’s face turning slowly beat red.

James looks down at the photograph, the figures on the paper moving in their tiny window. He cocks his head to the side and squints, not sure what he’s seeing, before:

“Oh fuck!” James shouts, horror and revulsion written across his features. He throws the polaroid as far away from himself as he can, it flutters back and hits him in the shin, and he recoils like he’s been burned as he scrambles away.

Moony turns and buries his face in his hands.

Peter watches confused, before reaching for one himself while James stretches out a hand in warning.

“Why! WHY!” James shouts.

“What is that?” Peter asks, confused. “It just looks like…oh...wait…are you…wrestling? Oh. OH!” Peter balks and tosses the photo away, blushing furiously.

“I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing with my socks. You can keep them…”

“I put them on my feet James, I don’t need socks for that, Moony doesn’t really leave much of a mess, if you know what I mean.”

“PADFOOT!” Three voices shout in unison.


End file.
